Each word is an internal struggle to put on paper
It used to be so easy
Writing was my refuge, my relief, my savior
My pens bled my soul on paper and allowed me to cope like some use razors on skin to bleed their pains
Somehow instead of releasing I began to bottle everything inside
Killing myself slowly with the toxins I refused to expel
Holding my soul
My depths
My breathe
Waiting
To Exhale
Unconsciously avoiding emotional overload
Tears no longer stain my pillows at night because these eyes do not allow emotions to become tangible
Everything has been buried so deep and hidden for so long
I barely remember the person I used to be
Writing is a reminder
A glimpse into what was
And what could have been
Clues to who I refuse to allow myself to become
Fighting God, destiny and me
Because deep down this suppressed version of who I was slowly gasps for breath
Holding onto life and refusing to succumb to an untimely demise
Maintaining hope that my pen will once again find its way to a pad of paper
And every stroke is like the beeping of a heart monitor
Growing stronger and stronger
Showing proof of life
This frail shell of who I used to be
Refusing to let go
Refusing to be suffocated by the lies she was told
By the mistakes she made
Or the snares of her enemy’s throws
She knows who she is and refuses to let her sins name her
Refused to let her misguided actions dictate her destiny
Even if this feeble housing cannot yet see
“Write on” she whispers
“Let your soul cry
Let it bleed its very DNA onto that paper and remind you of what you once knew
Let it breathe life back into your dreams and expectations
As blood spills and cleanses, let it wash away every doubt and lie told
Let your own words comfort and hold
Cradle your every emotion and bring you back to life
Your spirit, she’s gaining strength and now it’s time for you to fight.”